Moving is miserable. I don’t care if you have ten things or ten million things. It still sucks to have to box up your stuff and transport it. Even if you’re going to a really cool place, and you’re so excited about what lies ahead in this new place … it still sucks to have to load up all your gear and get it to the new place.

The big stuff, the heavy stuff, the stuff you ask your friends to come over and help you load into the truck, car, van, isn’t really what I’m talking about, either. I’m talking about once all that stuff is cleared away and you’re left with the clutter. The stuff you haven’t thrown away because you think someone might want it since it’s nice and just because you don’t use it doesn’t mean someone else won’t. Or the stuff that you had lining your window sills that doesn’t really pack up all that easily and what exactly would you write on the top of that box since there isn’t a classification for clutter. Stuff-I-don’t-need-but-am-having-a-hard-time-ditching.

The cleansing is good. Getting rid or so much stuff you’ve accumulated whether you’ve lived somewhere for 5 months or 50 years. But it’s kind of good in the way that going to the dentist’s office is good. No one looks forward to it with glee, and when you’re there you’re clutching the seat in misery waiting for it to be over … but once you walk out, you’re pretty psyched. I mean, clean teeth is a pretty awesome feeling. But I digress …

I know I will be glad to have gone through my stuff and gotten rid of stuff I shouldn’t have been holding on to. I know that I will look back once I spend a few nights in my new place thinking about how great that cleanse was. How nice it feels not to have that cactus that was dying, but I wasn’t getting rid of, to look at and feel guilty about anymore. I’ll feel organized and on top of it and fresh.

But in the meantime, while I’m mid-move and my house looks like a festering group of angry moles when through it strictly in spite, I’m not enjoying it. And I’m looking forward to being done with it and reflecting about how it wasn’t all that bad, but really more therapeutic. Really.

Here’s a solution, click here and break out your Visa, Mastercard or Amex (but not Discovercard, those are for losers). For those too lazy to click on the link, it’s a google search for Vermont area moving companies. The last time I moved all I really had was clothes, a few random kitchen things, and a TV. And I swore I’d never do it again.

Seriously, I’d rather take out a second mortgage to pay movers to move my shit for me. Break something? So long as it’s not my flatscreen or sega genesis, I could really give a shit. While I admire you for your gusto (read: thriftiness) in moving yourself, as Denzel said in Book of Eli (which really impressed me), “There is always a choice.” The choice here: move yourself and be miserable for a week, or spend a bit of your savings/lay off the drugs for a bit and pay someone to do it for you. Just kidding, my cowriter does not have a drug problem, as far as I know.

Clearly, I agree with everything you said in your post regarding moving, otherwise I wouldn’t be arguing so vehemently about paying movers to do it for you. Thus, I feel no need to repeat what you said. But there is one crucial apsect to moving that you didn’t seem to mention – unpacking.

All those boxes aren’t gonna unpack themselves. You need to reorganize all that shit yourself. To me, that’s the worst part. I’ve spent the last 3.5 years getting my condo in order how I like it…now you are telling me I have to do it all again? As far as I know, moving companies will unpack the big stuff for you and set it up, but they aren’t hanging your framed October 28, 2004 front page from the Boston Globe above your shitter for you so you can see Varitek jumping into Foulke’s arms every time you take a leak.

So I guess what I’m saying is – never move. Unless you are A. living with a crackhead roommate B. in a bad relationship C. living next to Snookie.

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